Title Goes Here
by Seraphina Smiles
Summary: Because all Jack ever wanted to do was finish a book just for her. Or, in which Aster attempts to keep the promise he made to keep hope alive in a little girl, while managing the death of his best friend. *Alternate Universe*
1. Chapter 1

**Title Goes Here**

_Summary: Because all Jack ever wanted to do was give her a children's book. Or, in which Aster keeps the promise he made to his best friend, to keep hope alive in a little girl, while managing the death of his best friend. _

_Warnings: Character death, possible use of minor OCs (they're never too important), and than a major OC that's technically not an OC… Jack's sister._

_Hey guys! I'm still in the process of writing my second chapter of "Fly With Me" but I've managed to catch writer's block on only my second chapter (how'd that happen?). __So, to try and keep the creativity (and the stories) coming, I've decided to write this. Enjoy!_

Chapter 1-

After all is said and done, he can't help but feel bad for the girl. The little ankle-bitter, just a few weeks shy of her first double digit, is curled into a ball at his side. The chair isn't meant for holding two people, but both of the Overland siblings were little more than skin and bones.

Both had the perfect shade of hazelnut brown for their hair, and caught the sun in their strands to make them shine. They both had a splash of freckles on their nose and make your dentist proud, perfectly straight, perfectly white. A spring and sense of purpose was always there, however faint when they walked and their voices were both crisp, and clean with the right amount of smile.

Damn.

This girl was just so much like him. Aster sees him when he looks at her. And he knows that he'll be doing a lot of that, as her new legal guardian.

The lad was right when he asked, _begged _his friend to take her, watch over her. The only living Overland would be their cousin, who is almost nineteen years old and lives across the country. Definitely unfit to take care, even if he wanted to, of the almost ten year old.

Even if he hadn't implored for his help in the fashion he did, Aster would have done it. He'd grown to love the girl like his own sister.

Damn it all.

The Australian wasn't one to curse, even in his teens. He was the eldest brother to twins and he'd tried his hardest to set a good example. After all, his father hadn't for him, and it was a wonder how he'd turn out so good after that drunkard of a father.

He could hear Jack saying those words to him.

It had been a Thursday night, and Aster had refused to come out of his apartment all day, mourning his loses when the younger man snuck into to room with a still hot container of carrot soup from the café they both loved, and two plastic cups of something with whipped cream and more calories than he'd like to imagine. But the peppermint taste had been sweet and familiar on his tongue and he found he didn't mind.

The night had been quieter than most of them, but neither minded. A movie rolled on, one of Aster's favorite, but all the details were fuzzy in his mind. Because those words were being said to him, and he knew he'd done alright.

At the very least alright.

Sophie, bless that child, had always been small. At the age of nine, she still looked six and acted like one as well. It hadn't been her fault, autism does that to a child. Yet, the young blond had loved them with her whole heart.

Jamie was the older of the two, with brown hair and eyes. He had a protective streak for Sophie, and a passion for writing. His imagination was wonderfully wild, and he read and reread that "Kids Can Write" book until he could quote every word. The kid loved fairytales, and legends. Santa Clause was his idol, and the Easter Bunny a hero.

He'd even call Aster the Easter Bunny for all the work he did during that holiday.

And Jack had joined in.

Aster opened his eyes, and willed himself to release the crushing grip on his pencil. It had become easier to think about Jamie and Sophie. The years rolled on, letting the pain lessen slightly, and those pink dresses in the little boutique near the coffee shop actually made him smile a little bit as he remembered tea parties and fairy wands and when the magazines still came in the mail saying there had been another Big Foot spotting he'd open the page and skim.

But thinking about Jack still hurt. And he kept opening that wound again and again, because he couldn't stop.

"_Aster, I-I know I've asked… so much from you but p-please, I need you t-to do one last thing f-for me."_

He could still smell the disinfectant. Mrs. Overland used it all the time, as Jack's home was the model of immaculate cleanliness, but this wasn't with the same love and care and hint of lemon. This was the hospital, the stench so strong as to block out the smell of blood, and tears and death.

"_Nah mate, ya 've done so much for me. I figure it's time I return the favor, yeah?"_

His accent was heavy, thick with emotion. He could see the smile slowly work its way onto Jack's face. Not the usual, to big for his face cheeky grin, or the smirk that insinuated a prank had been successfully plotted. It was that slow, sweet smile that Aster rarely saw. Especially directed at him. It was saved for chocolate ice cream on Jamie's new t-shirt, smudges of paint on Emma's cheek, and Sophie dancing with her fairy wings and strawberry ice cream pink tutu.

"_In the drawer, third from the top is a dark blue folder. I've started something there, but I know I won't be able to finish it. Aster…"_

The top drawer contained old CDs and a few of Jack's favorite movies. The second drawer contained an old band t-shirt, along with a few faded paperbacks. The third drawer was a sign that Jack was ever his mother's son. Neatly lined up spiral notebooks, a handful of sharpened number two pencils, two pink pearl erasers.

And a dark blue folder.

"_Don' worry 'bout it mate, I'll get it all taken care of."_

The folder was stuffed with papers. Pages of notebooks torn off, the back of a few unused napkins. Some of the papers were wrinkled, and others still straight and neat, like they'd come fresh from a new package. Some of it was typed, and others hand written.

_It was a cold day in Burgess. Not cold enough for a snowball fight, though._

Old envelope addressed from a S. Mansnoozie_. _The stamp displayed a classic rainbow and clouds, all in gold sand. Messily written on the back with thick strokes from a fire red marker.

_He grabbed a blanket, and a mug of hot cocoa from the tray, laughing along._

Slightly wrinkled printer paper, Times New Roman font, dark green ink.

_And they were all friends, Jack Frost and the Easter Kangaroo. _

Written carefully onto an index mark with the gray of a pencil. Cursive, slow and beautiful like fresh fallen snow.

* * *

And scene. What did you think? Please review!

-Seraphina Smiles :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Title Goes Here**

_Hey! I've actually been pretty excited about this story. Thank you so much for the reviews/favorites/alerts. I mean, it's only my first chapter, roughly twenty-four hours and I'd gotten such positive responses. So thanks!_

_I know I said Sophie has autism, but here's the thing… I don't know anyone that has autism, and I've been doing minimal research on it. I apologize If her behavior is off. If you have any information for me, her case is very, very mild, please let me know or direct me to a website. Any information is useful._

_If you have any suggestions, by the way, please let me know via PM/review. I will be using a lot of flashbacks to let you understand Aster and Jack's very emotional, and sad stories. And I love hearing different ideas._

_Since I forgot a disclaimer last chapter... I do not own Rise of the Guradians or the Kookaburra lullaby. I figured it was public domain enough to include lyrics in the chapter._

_Without further ado, I offer thee chapter two!_

Chapter 2-

2:02 A.M.

Aster turned on his side, his eyes greeted by a sleek black alarm clock, those three digits blinking at him. He sat up from the bed, rising to go get himself a drink of water. It would be a long night, but in the past few months, the Aussie has made himself well acquainted with those.

On his way towards the kitchen, he checked the slightly ajar door of the room next to his. Crumpled sheets, and messy blankets were the only sign of disarray in the otherwise immaculate room.

After all, even through everything Emma-Jane Overland was still an Overland, and cleanliness was in her blood.

In the midst of the unorganized twin sized bed was a petite child, brown hair spread around underneath her. The pale face screaming terror.

Aster, agenda of grab a glass of cool water and stare at the moon forgotten, walked into the room and sat at the edge of the bed. His hand met the pale skin of the girl's cheek, and slowly the brown locks, "S'alright ya litle ankle-bitter, everythin's ok."

Her breath hitches, and Aster knows she's awake, only feigning sleep but he lets her and continues his ministration and mumbled quiet words. He doesn't even realize when his words fizzle and he's simply humming, lulling her to sleep with the familiar lullaby.

He doesn't know many songs, preferring the quiet and he rarely ever sings, so his voice is a little rough, and the rhythm off, but he can feel Emma relaxing. He knows its wrong, but he can't help but picture a little blonde in her place, and the material of the pink tutu grazing his skin.

_Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree_

"Sing for me, please?"

The moon filters into the room, and Aster can't say no to those blue, blue eyes staring into him. He doesn't need to turn his head to know that Jamie, wanting to hear it just as much, is saying a silent please.

When he was a teenager, Aster imagined himself at twenty-one partying, out with friends, and drinking. Not singling lullabies to a pair of five year old twins.

The tea kettle is whistling, and the microwave is demanding that someone open it and enjoy whatever meal it had reheated, in this case a bowl of simple broth. He has to complete an essay, and there are a handful of paintings he has planned out into his head.

There are many other things that he can do, and he knows that they'd both eventually fall asleep on their own accords if he said no. But it's _only _eleven forty-two. So he sits on the edge of Jamie's bed, let's Sophie curl in his arms, and opens his mouth.

_Merry, Merry king of the bush is he_

"Sing for me, please?"

Mama was here.

It was all going to be okay. Daddy wasn't going to come. Not with his smelly breath and his scary red eyes. She was going to chase him away, and all the nightmares, and the beatings.

"Of course, my little Bunny, anything for you."

_Laugh kookaburra, laugh_

"Sing for me, please?"

He never expected to hear those words from his best friend, curled into a ball on the very same, old greenish gray armchair. Those blue eyes stared at him expectantly, then realizing what he had just said, dropped.

The piano in the corner of the room mocks them both. Daring someone to play the very same notes that it's original owner played. Every year, it was reserved for this day and this one only.

And every year, a brunette woman would sit upon that creaky, old bench and that one song would play.

Twice.

Once to greet Jack when he awoke and later again to put him to sleep. The one night he'd always stay over at his house, even when his college dorm was miles away.

When he awoke that morning, in his apartment room instead of in his home a fresh wave of pain rolled over him. He couldn't be strong enough, not even for Emma.

"Well Jackie, I'll need the music. Play for me, won't ya?"

It wasn't the same, beautiful music of his mother. No lovely soprano, no magical melodies. But it was enough for Jack and he'd finished the performance with a smile.

That tradition would have went on for many years.

If only the accompanist hadn't fell.

_Kookaburra, gay your life must be _

The clock upon Emma's wall, an analogue encased in a white snowflake, read a quarter past eight when said brunette opened her eyes again. She was greeted by a familiar checkered blanket and sheets, and white stuffed bear.

As well as a blue-gray haired young man nursing two mugs. Green eyes smiled at her and she ignored how bloodshot they were, as he offered her the mug. Peppermint attacked her nostrils, and the red and white candy cane was still out long past season.

But it calmed her down, and her lips twisted up.

"Thank you for singing to me."

Aster nodded and opened his mouth. Suddenly, he wanted to tell her everything.

How Sophie and Jamie's room, two different colors on both side of the wall, royal blue and princess pink blended together when there was only the light of the moon.

How his mother combatted every worry, every fear in his childish mind with simple melodies, and a comforting hand in his hair.

How her brother was probably the best pianist he'd ever known and that concert went on for hours as they played the simple lullaby over and over. And how Jack smiled when it was over, and the quiet thank you, so unlike his usual smirk.

But he can't do that to Emma, can't unleash all those emotions onto the child.

So he ruffles her hair, "Of course."

* * *

And scene. Yes, Aster's had it pretty rough. I've heard that his Pooka community, in the real story-verse was real loving and kind, but this isn't his actual father and yes his mother loved him very much. Did I mention... a lot of characters die? Yeah...

Anyways thank you for reading, please review.

-Serphina Smiles :)


End file.
